


In Quartum Grunus

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Discworld
Genre: Gen, The Fourth of Grune, Topical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: Fireworks, insidiousness thereof
Relationships: Sybil Ramkin & Havelock Vetinari & Samuel Vimes
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	In Quartum Grunus

The celebration of the Fourth of Grune had, over the centuries, drifted away from what it originally meant. Most people didn’t think of it as a being about the death of Suffer-Not-Injustice Vimes.

As Vetinari pointed out, it was a celebration of the _end_ of a war, which is what you wanted if people were going to insist on something nationally symbolic. Furthermore, the care put into the effigies of Old Stoneface meant the story was being remembered. Of course, a twenty-foot statue standing guard near the palace and new editions of history textbooks put a different spin on things. 

No, the real problem the Patrician had with the Fourth of Grune was the fireworks. The problem Commander Vimes had with Vetinari having a problem with fireworks was his tendency to show up in the corner of the bedroom of the house on Scoone Avenue just when they were getting ready to take young Sam out into the city.

Vetinari was wearing black flannel pajamas and had pulled the duvet off the bed and wrapped himself in it. He was holding a packet of wax earplugs and a mug full of visibly lukewarm tea.

“I’m not even going to ask how you got in here,” Vimes said, once he noticed he was there.

“Good,” Vetinari smiled. It was not a nice smile. “Now can someone please throw the Day Watch into the river again?”

“What? The old Day Watch? But they’re part of our—“

“That was not very expedient decision making. They should have been fully dissolved.”

“You’re the one who signed the piece of paper!” Vimes shouted. “You thought Carrot’s spelling was cute and didn’t think about what he was making you do beyond what it was going to cost.”

Now Vetinari was putting in the earplugs and Vimes had half a mind to get out a notebook and continue shouting at him in block capitals. 

Sybil put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You should stay here with him,” she said softly.

“But he—“

“Already blames himself for what happened. When he was shot you said the whole business with the gonne only happened because he gave it to the Assassins.”

“He did give it to the Assassins.”

“After all of that do you think he would be trusting his own judgement when Carrot showed up?”

“Did he tell you this?” Vimes looked at Vetinari, who had pulled the duvet over his head. “Do we actually know who has been setting off the fireworks?”

Sybil sighed. “Does the Patrician have a network of spies?”

“If it’s Quirke’s cronies, things could be very bad.”

“Yes. Now look after Havelock.” Sybil swept out of the room. Young Sam had wanted to go see the bristle worms in the sludge at Harry King’s. These red spiky worms helped clean the water from the parts of the city that had indoor plumbing. 

Vetinari was sitting in the corner of the room, back against the wall. 

He had been prone to sensory overload for as long as he could remember. It was a blessed relief when he had inadvertently annoyed the Scorpion House shared dormitory into kicking him out and putting him in an upperclassman room. He could then cover the windows and sit in the quiet dark. 

When he was very young he had not been good at modulating an irritable startle response away from scarring cruelty since his mind seemed to process people’s vulnerabilities with no intervention from rational thought. Working to counteract this resulted in a reputation by early adolescence of near-infinite patience and the reactivity of a noble gas.

So when Vimes asked how he was doing, he put his hand over his eyes and said “Not well.”

Vimes turned down the oil lamps so the room was in near darkness. “Can I get you more tea? Something to read?”

“Please stop talking. Don’t leave. Don’t touch me.”

Vimes picked up a catalog for dragon feed that had fallen on the floor and began to read it. The descriptions were mildly entertaining. Occasionally he looked over at Vetinari, who was apparently counting backwards in base 12.

They’d have to run out of fireworks eventually, right? And then someone could throw them onto the river. 

In the age of kings the people had come for the police, with the cry “if the law’s not in our hands, whose hands is it in?” Clearly not the police. 

They’d never been the dream Vimes wanted them to be and they still weren’t, but his world ran on stories and, much as he would like to deny it, he was partly a demon. Whatever was happening with the Day Watch and the fireworks he would get to the bottom of it.


End file.
